The Rocke of Regard diuided into foure parts. The first, the Castle of delight: Wherein is reported, the wretched end of wanton and dissolute liuing. The second, the Garden of Vnthriftinesse: Wherein are many sweete flowers, (or rather fancies) of honest loue. The thirde, the Arbour of Vertue: Wherein slaunder is highly punished, and vertuous Ladies and Gentlewomen, worthily commended. The fourth, the Ortchard of Repentance: Wherein are discoursed, the miseries that followe dicing, the mischiefes of quareling, the fall of prodigalitie: and the souden ouerthrowe of foure notable cousners, with diuers other morall, natural, & tragical discourses: documents and admonitions being all the inuention, collection and translation of George Whetstons |
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P. Plasmos to his mishap.
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 | The Rocke of Regard |  |
87
P. Plasmos to his mishap.
How
should I frame my plaint, how shall I tell my tale?
Whom should I blame, whom shall I bane as worker of my bale?
Sith heauen and earth, are bent to bruse mee with their hate,
What bootes mee (wretch) to rage at fraude, or raile on lucklesse fate?
Whom should I blame, whom shall I bane as worker of my bale?
Sith heauen and earth, are bent to bruse mee with their hate,
What bootes mee (wretch) to rage at fraude, or raile on lucklesse fate?
Whom neuer hap did haunt, but thousand harmes affraide,
In prime of youth, vntimely death, first tooke my surest ayde,
Then rose a lawlesse friend, that likt my rouing youth,
Hee gaue mee will, to sucke my wealth (alas the more the ruth.)
In prime of youth, vntimely death, first tooke my surest ayde,
Then rose a lawlesse friend, that likt my rouing youth,
Hee gaue mee will, to sucke my wealth (alas the more the ruth.)
I lothed forced thrift, hee liked no expence,
And Tutors loue not for to toile, without reward of pence,
Which lacke to late I rue, The greater mischiefe mine,
But yet my thought, at which offence, perforce doth thus repine.
And Tutors loue not for to toile, without reward of pence,
Which lacke to late I rue, The greater mischiefe mine,
But yet my thought, at which offence, perforce doth thus repine.
Why scornde I merchaunts trade, with baites of frande to fish?
Sith craft doth onely compasse wealth, and wealth is that wee wish,
Or placed at my booke, why plide I not the same?
Why sought I not by morall rules, my madding yeares to tame.
Sith craft doth onely compasse wealth, and wealth is that wee wish,
Or placed at my booke, why plide I not the same?
Why sought I not by morall rules, my madding yeares to tame.
Sith rule must leade our life, or els wee liue awry,
Why Aristotles wise precepts, then did I not apply?
Why likt I not the Lawe, where huge deceites are sowen,
Sith wee by lawe, do hurt our foe, and hold that is our owne.
Why Aristotles wise precepts, then did I not apply?
Why likt I not the Lawe, where huge deceites are sowen,
Sith wee by lawe, do hurt our foe, and hold that is our owne.
But leapt to libertie, that longe I did desire,
Why was my hart, so set on hoygh, beyond my reach t'aspire?
Why was I wedded so to peeuish will and pride?
Sith pride are will and foes to wit, and witt our wayes should guide.
Why was my hart, so set on hoygh, beyond my reach t'aspire?
Why was I wedded so to peeuish will and pride?
Sith pride are will and foes to wit, and witt our wayes should guide.
But most of all to loue, why was I wretch so thrall?
Why sought I so, by raging lust, my gadding yeares to gall?
Sith neither loue nor lust, doth yeeld a quiet rest,
Why made I choice of both the euills, when bad was very best?
Why sought I so, by raging lust, my gadding yeares to gall?
88
Why made I choice of both the euills, when bad was very best?
Ah (Laymos) once my loue, by froward fate my foe,
Ah (Laymos) first by the I knew, the workers of my woe,
But (Liros) most vnkinde, both spoild of loue and ruthe,
Ah (Liros) thou doest wound my hart, to thinke on thine vntruth.
Ah (Laymos) first by the I knew, the workers of my woe,
But (Liros) most vnkinde, both spoild of loue and ruthe,
Ah (Liros) thou doest wound my hart, to thinke on thine vntruth.
Why did I trust thy faith, or fearelesse othes thou sware,
Thy fayned vowes, thy sugred woords, of my welfare thy care,
Sith faith is turnde to fraude, and woordes to workes vniust,
Why likte I wretch thy wilye tongue, sith treason quiteth trust.
Thy fayned vowes, thy sugred woords, of my welfare thy care,
Sith faith is turnde to fraude, and woordes to workes vniust,
Why likte I wretch thy wilye tongue, sith treason quiteth trust.
And did I thus deserue? in faith thy selfe be iudge:
If Plasmos had, did Liros lacke? O no hee did not grudge,
To giue thee what thou wouldst, yea more then thou couldst craue,
What cankred thought then mou'de thy minde, his life and all to haue?
If Plasmos had, did Liros lacke? O no hee did not grudge,
To giue thee what thou wouldst, yea more then thou couldst craue,
What cankred thought then mou'de thy minde, his life and all to haue?
Whose murdrous marke (ay mee) my maymed fist can showe.
Although thou feardst, to strike the stroake, the strife thy hart did sowe,
And should I spare thee then, of death to stand in awe?
O, Noe, my conscience bids mee strike, betide what may of lawe.
Although thou feardst, to strike the stroake, the strife thy hart did sowe,
And should I spare thee then, of death to stand in awe?
O, Noe, my conscience bids mee strike, betide what may of lawe.
Although the worst befall, death quites but death againe,
And sure there is no ioy to death to such as pine in paine,
Why miste my hart the blowe, that hitt my harmelesse wrist,
My hart it was that wrought offence, and not my faultlesse fist.
And sure there is no ioy to death to such as pine in paine,
Why miste my hart the blowe, that hitt my harmelesse wrist,
My hart it was that wrought offence, and not my faultlesse fist.
My hart did trust these mates, my hart did slurre this strife,
My hand did naught, but make defence, to saue my sillie life,
My hart deuisde the toyes, which puft mee vppe with pride,
My hart inforst my eye to loue, which manly fist defide.
My hand did naught, but make defence, to saue my sillie life,
My hart deuisde the toyes, which puft mee vppe with pride,
My hart inforst my eye to loue, which manly fist defide.
And yet my hand, not hart, is plagued for others mis,
Too parcial sure, in my conceite, the heauens were in this,
Too parcial (wretch) not so, t'was neither heauen nor happe,
But harebrainde youth, which leapt the hedge, and left the open gappe.
Too parcial sure, in my conceite, the heauens were in this,
Too parcial (wretch) not so, t'was neither heauen nor happe,
But harebrainde youth, which leapt the hedge, and left the open gappe.
89
T'was youth which stouped first, to Laymos wanton lure,
T'was youth that likt the wily wordes, which Liros put in vre,
T'was youth through smal forsight, that wrought poore Plasmos thral,
T'was youth, so present want were serud, that feard no future fall.
T'was youth that likt the wily wordes, which Liros put in vre,
T'was youth through smal forsight, that wrought poore Plasmos thral,
T'was youth, so present want were serud, that feard no future fall.
T'was youth that made him maske, with visard of delight,
Delight (not so) but dririe dread, to shunne the merchants sight,
And Dread the scourge of youth, for safegard of me wretch,
Did lodge me vp with needie griefe, while craft did play the leach,
Delight (not so) but dririe dread, to shunne the merchants sight,
And Dread the scourge of youth, for safegard of me wretch,
Did lodge me vp with needie griefe, while craft did play the leach,
In deede he playde the leach, to ease my present lacke,
But what should serue for future store, his physicke put to sacke.
He toylde in my behalfe, God wot I durst not steare,
Least, craftie traine should tol me in, the merchants wily snare.
But what should serue for future store, his physicke put to sacke.
He toylde in my behalfe, God wot I durst not steare,
Least, craftie traine should tol me in, the merchants wily snare.
And dread did daunt me so, that death I did desire,
Before a life of freedome reft, my hart did so aspire,
A tayle yet cloyde the land, which should me frolike make,
Where (Timeles trust) to curtoule it, did so the ioynt mistake.
Before a life of freedome reft, my hart did so aspire,
A tayle yet cloyde the land, which should me frolike make,
Where (Timeles trust) to curtoule it, did so the ioynt mistake.
That land will bleede to death, if conscience worke no cure,
Such waste wrought haste, for freedomes sake, to trust ere I were sure,
A pestlence blowe, forsooth it hurt not lande alone,
But spoyld my fist by filthy strife, and maymd my hart with mone.
Such waste wrought haste, for freedomes sake, to trust ere I were sure,
A pestlence blowe, forsooth it hurt not lande alone,
But spoyld my fist by filthy strife, and maymd my hart with mone.
Of which I youth may thanke, he snarld me in this snare,
Of force to trust, or else to sterue, with dread, distresse, and care,
Where Trust for best I chusd, although it prou'd the worst,
Such backward hap, doth euer haunt, the man that is accurst.
Of force to trust, or else to sterue, with dread, distresse, and care,
Where Trust for best I chusd, although it prou'd the worst,
Such backward hap, doth euer haunt, the man that is accurst.
| The Rocke of Regard | |